


Echoes of You

by nh8343



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Travel, minor angst and existential dread, ridiculously good or bad luck you be the judge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-06-25 00:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19735087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nh8343/pseuds/nh8343
Summary: Doyoung falls in love with him in pieces, racing to change fate before the last petal falls.





	Echoes of You

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much, prompter! This was a challenge to write at times, but it was definitely a rewarding one. Fair warning that I did condense the ‘for a year’ that you requested, but I hope it’s still to your liking. Title taken from the Marianas Trench song of the same name. (Prompt #435)

  
  


Doyoung has always considered himself too realistic for his own good.

It’s not that others have told him this; no, they’ve generally expressed admiration at Doyoung’s ‘drive’, his ‘analytic mind’, how he always has a clear path forward. None of those observations are necessarily wrong. But like with most things, Doyoung is nothing if not critical of who he is as an individual, which includes this driving flaw.

He sets goals and follows them to a T. He doesn’t dream too big. He weighs the pros and cons of every decision and, without fail, always chooses the path most likely to lead to success. He’s sick of it.

Because while he’d known ever since his University days that he’d choose a safe, comfortable life over one of doubt and chance, it hadn’t fully hit him until a few years living out that mantra just everything that sacrifice would entail.

Maybe sacrifice isn’t the right word, exactly. He really hasn’t needed to give up much beyond fleeting fancies from his teenage years. And it’s not really settling, either. He has a well-paying desk job that many people would kill for. But no matter what he’s supposed to label this life he’s chosen, Doyoung finds himself at the ripe age of 25 slipping into a pit of regret that he almost feels stupid for opening up in the first place.

If Doyoung spends enough time stewing in that feeling, he thinks he can boil it down to this: he wishes he was passionate enough about something to want to make sacrifices for it, to live a life of uncertainty. He’d spent so much time preparing for this realistic road to success that he’d never given himself a chance to find out what that something might be, if it was really out there. But now he has paperwork and bills to occupy his time instead of the essays and data models of University. There’s no room for Doyoung to waste time on developing a hobby when he knows the chances of it going anywhere are slim to none.

It’s just not realistic.

Doyoung is also self-aware enough to know this same line of thinking is why he’s generally ignored the silvery anemone flower tattooed on the inside of his forearm. The tattoo ━ his soulmate mark ━ is yet another fantasy that he could never bring himself to linger on, knowing how uncommon it was for people to find their matching half. A naive part of him might have thought it would happen to him anyway. But around year 18 with no luck, he’d quietly buried that thought in the ‘distractions’ corner of his mind to disappear without fanfare.

Still, that hope had outlasted most of his other fantasies. Which is why it seems needlessly cruel when Doyoung wakes up one morning and sees one of his petals beginning to wilt.

He sits back down on his bed, stares at the fading ink, and for some reason experiences the stages of grief in reverse. First, it’s the acceptance that he’s conditioned himself to react with. Cool, rational logic. Okay, this is strange. Normally he’d be in at least his forties before the tattoo showed any kind of change. He’s going to lose the chance to form a connection with his soulmate much sooner than expected. What is he going to do about it?

A moment later, the facade cracks, swirling around a sorrow deep in his gut at the loss. How did this happen. _Why_ did this happen? And━ God, what the _fuck_ , this is unfair. He’s probably killed his own chances to ever be fucking happy, and now on top of that he has to deal with this stupid━ _Fuck_. Doyoung would punch something, but he already knows he won’t. Breaking something for the hell of it isn’t something he can justify. That makes him even angrier.

And, huh, isn’t that at the core of it all? No matter how furious he is at whatever cosmic force decided to throw this at him, Doyoung’s still the angriest with himself, at the person he’s shaped himself into. The revelation isn’t exactly a new one ━ the perks of being a little _too_ self-aware ━ but this is the first time his next thought isn’t just a resigned “oh well” or “I don’t have time for this”. This time, Doyoung feels himself wanting to do something about it.

If he’s so miserable, then why not stick it to the powers that be and go after the one thing every sign points to him not being able to have? He’ll show them drive. He’ll show them having it together. He’ll show himself _realistic_. Maybe this could be something worth uncertainty.

The heat of the moment, of course, isn’t the best time for Doyoung to be making rash decisions about the course of his life. He waits a few hours until he has a cooler head to start really thinking about it as an actual plan. The silver lining of this whole incident is that it’s Saturday. Sure, Doyoung’s whole weekend is probably ruined, but at least it can be ruined in the comfort and privacy of his own apartment. Also, Johnny will still be around for him to talk to.

Johnny has been Doyoung’s roommate for a good number of years now. They first met when Doyoung was in the US on a work exchange during University, when Johnny had offered to split the rent as long as Doyoung didn’t have loud parties past midnight. Needless to say, that hadn’t been an issue.

Johnny had done wonders for Doyoung’s English and his sanity during that short time, both of which allowed Doyoung to grab said lucrative desk job and ultimately convinced him to stay on American soil. He’s gotten a comment or two about still being in the same living situation, but really, it’s the ideal solution. Rent is half as expensive, and Johnny still helps keep Doyoung together. Some things never change.

When Doyoung finally leaves his room, he’s only a little surprised to see another visitor lounging on their couch, chatting with Johnny as the latter puts together a late morning breakfast. Donghyuck has made himself a frequent visitor to their apartment after joining Johnny’s band as a keyboardist and “social media specialist” (Donghyuck’s words, not Doyoung’s) a year ago. Having him here now makes it a little more awkward bringing up this morning’s situation, but it’s not enough to stop him. Doyoung knows Donghyuck well enough to trust he’ll keep something this personal to himself.

“Look who’s back in the land of the living,” Johnny says when he notices Doyoung walking in, sliding a mound of half-charred eggs onto a plate. “You hungry? Donghyuck already insisted I make breakfast for him, too, so I might as well cook for three.”

“I didn’t insist; you volunteered,” Donghyuck clarifies. “Like I would ask for more of whatever burnt mess you just scraped off that pan.”

Johnny puts one offended hand on his hip. “They’re _crisp_ , not burnt. And you didn’t object.”

“Sorry, can’t hear you. Too busy sending a new tweet on the Suhkers account: ‘Get you a man who can play bass AND cook you breakfast. Get you any man who isn’t Johnny Suh.’ “

“Tweet it and you’re fired.”

Doyoung slides onto the couch beside Donghyuck, snorting despite himself. He sees Donghyuck glance up from his phone to give him a nod, pausing when he studies Doyoung’s face. “What’s up?” he asks.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Now that’s dangerous,” Johnny cuts in, squeezing himself into the space between the two of them with more plates and forks.

“Thanks.” Doyoung takes a bite of his eggs before continuing, “I’ve been thinking, and I think I should go on a trip. A long one, potentially. To, uh...maybe find my soulmate?”

Silence. Someone drops their fork back onto their plate with a clatter. “Who are you and what have you done with Doyoung?” Donghyuck asks.

Johnny holds the back of his hand up to Doyoung’s forehead. “He doesn’t have a fever. Maybe food poisoning?”

“Considering who was cooking, I wouldn’t be surprised. I’m sensing another tweet coming on.”

“I’m serious!” Doyoung insists. “Is it that out of character for me?”

He already knows the answer, but it still stings when Donghyuck gives him an overly solemn nod, while Johnny simply deadpans, “Yes.” Hearing the way he’s perceived from strangers is one thing. Hearing it from people he cares about, no matter how much they might be joking, is so much worse. The rest of the eggs on his plate suddenly don’t seem so appetizing.

“What’s got you suddenly thinking about soulmates anyway?” Johnny asks. “The Doyoung I know thinks they’re ‘naively over-optimistic’ and ‘foolish’, if I remember correctly.”

“Johnny.”

“Watch one too many rom-coms? Catch one of your coworkers swooning?”

“ _Youngho_.”

The name comes out sharper than Doyoung intended, but it catches the attention of the man in question. Johnny sobers up immediately, patting Donghyuck on the knee when it looks like the keyboardist is going to chime in with some theories of his own. “You know what, Donghyuck?” he says. “We’ve bothered Doyoung enough for one day. Let’s go get that grocery shopping done.”

“Grocery…? I don’t even live━”

“You eat like you do. Come on, let’s go.”

Johnny shoots Doyoung a look that’s half-apology, half-“let’s talk about this later” before pulling Donghyuck off the couch. Doyoung takes one more bite of his eggs and holds his tongue while they pull on their shoes and leave. He’s a mature adult; there’s no reason to say anything he’ll regret once he’s had time to cool off. Even despite his anger with Johnny’s flippancy, he appreciates his roommate giving him space to breathe.

The eggs are growing cold. Doyoung finishes them out of guilt before shutting himself back inside his room, suspended somewhere in between wanting to permanently stop time and wanting it to quickly end his misery.

✈

“Alright, what’s really going on?” Johnny asks, not two seconds after stepping into the room. He hadn’t knocked, but Doyoung also hadn’t locked the door. Both were intentional.

“Can’t I just be suddenly interested in traveling and soulmates? Or are both of those too out of character?” The words would probably sound more sarcastic if Doyoung wasn’t lying face-down on his bed, head propped up on a pillow and reading some dumb home improvement magazine.

“I get it; I went too far. I’m sorry. But I know there has to be more to it for you to be so upset.”

Johnny’s most annoying quality is how hard it is to stay mad at him. With a sigh, Doyoung sets his magazine aside and sits up properly, not objecting when Johnny takes the other side of his bed. “Fine,” he admits. “There is something else. I woke up this morning and saw _this_ shit.”

Johnny does raise an eyebrow at his choice of words, but that expression doesn’t last long. As soon as Doyoung rolls up his sleeve and he gets a good look at the dying silver flower, his face immediately falls. “Well, now I feel like a grade-A asshole,” he says, eyes full of apology. “Jesus, Doyoung, what even…? You’re not nearly old enough for the fading to start.”

“Lucky me, such a scientific wonder,” Doyoung all but spits. “Maybe soulmate marks can sense when you’re dying inside.”

He lets out a half-snort on instinct, ready to play it off, but Johnny isn’t laughing. He’s dead serious as he crosses his arms and asks, “Is that really how you feel? Like you’re dying?”

They’ve joked about this before, about the rebellious bassist rooming with the corporate slave. It had always been in good fun. This right now isn’t a joke.

“No, I was just…” Doyoung can’t even believe himself. “I mean, yeah. A little. A lot, sometimes.”

“Doyoung━”

“I can’t _live_ like this,” Doyoung admits, dropping the act entirely. His eyes feel like they’re about to do something unnecessarily dramatic, like cry. “I thought I could. I really believed it was the best way forward. But the thought of spending every day of the next thirty or forty years locked up in that building doing something my heart will never be in, while chances like this just...fade away? I can’t do it. And I hate that every single person thinks I can.”

“Hey, slow down.” Johnny covers Doyoung’s hand with his own, making the latter jump. “I hear you, okay? You don’t have to justify yourself to me. Shit, Doyoung, you could have said something.”

“And sounded like an idiot? Or some spoiled brat?”

“Stop. You’re allowed to feel things. But I’m guessing this...” He glances again at the silver flower. “Was the last straw.”

Doyoung silently nods, not trusting himself to speak.

“Well, I mean…” Johnny pauses for a long moment. “I’d never be the one to tell you not to go, if you really want to. I’ll support your decision. Just...keep in mind there’s another person at the other end of that tattoo?”

Doyoung’s eyebrows knit together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you want to do this as a middle finger to the world, that’s great. As long as you don’t get whoever that person is confused with the principle of the thing. They have stories and feelings, too.”

It’s a fair point. Doyoung gets what the other man is trying to say. That still doesn’t stop him from chiming in with a childish, “Obviously not a whole lot of feelings if we haven’t met yet.”

“I’m going to ignore that, because it’s petty even for someone who isn’t you.”

The huff Doyoung lets out brings a hint of a smile to Johnny’s face, which quickly evaporates when Doyoung continues, “It doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s not going to happen.”

“What?”

“It was something stupid I said when I was upset, but the more I think about it...I don’t know.” Doyoung retracts his hand from Johnny’s hold. “It’s not like I’ll be allowed to take multiple days off work. I’d have to quit to even think about going on some wild goose chase.”

“So quit,” Johnny says without missing a beat. “You’re miserable, and it’s not fair to yourself to stay. When you get back, you can work as a temp for The Suhkers while you find something better. I promise I’ll find something to pay you for.”

“That’s...really generous. Thank you,” Doyoung tells him sincerely. “But I wouldn't even know where to start looking.”

“You could post on some of those matchmaking sites, the ones where people upload pictures of their tattoos.”

“You think I haven’t tried that before?” Doyoung admits, an embarrassed flush rising to the tops of his ears.

“Come on, I know you. It was probably one vague post years ago, wasn’t it?”

“...Maybe.”

“Thought so. Listen,” Johnny insists, intense enough that Doyoung can’t look away. “We’re going to make this happen. It’s something you care about, so as your best friend? I care, too. That tattoo doesn’t have _shit_ on us.”

“I can’t believe I’m actually...What the fuck.”

“Love you, too.”

Johnny surges forward before Doyoung can protest, wrapping him in a tight hug. Bit by bit, muscle by muscle, his body starts to relax, tension running out of him in rivers. It’s more than an idea now, more than some abstract concept in Doyoung’s own head. Johnny is going to help make this happen. Johnny is going to help pull him out of this neverending spiral before it kills him.

“You deserve to be happy, Doyoung,” Johnny murmurs somewhere near his ear.

For once, Doyoung lets himself imagine what that might feel like.

✈

In the end, it’s not just Johnny who helps. Donghyuck is all too happy to be roped into their scavenger hunt, posting with fervor on every site he can find with Doyoung’s tattoo and contact information. He shows up at the apartment every day for the next two weeks with bright eyes and fresh determination as he and Johnny continue to comb through various feeds and galleries of metallic ink.

Normally, Doyoung wouldn’t be around to see the process. He’d be locked in his office pouring over finance reports and taking too many calls. But free time is suddenly something he has a lot of, now that he’s turned in his resignation. He’s cut back his hours and started working from home most days, officially to “help ease the transition” of him leaving. In truth, the thought of spending more time in that place after imagining a life without it makes him nauseous.

“Yo, Doyoung,” Donghyuck asks one day, taking up most of the couch. “Where are you from again?”

“I grew up just outside of Seoul. Why?”

“I was just thinking.” Donghyuck deposits another Cheeto into his mouth, crunching it too loudly before not-so-discreetly wiping his hand on his shirt. “Soulmates are like...supposed to be possible to find, in theory. And they’re assigned the moment we’re born. What if your soulmate is still in Korea, and you can’t find them because you moved so far away?”

“That seems a little…” Doyoung stops, considers. “Actually, that’s not the craziest idea. But I did spend twenty years there without any luck, so I don’t know if━”

“You guys!”

Johnny bursts into the room, balancing his laptop precariously on one arm and looking like he just rolled out of bed. “I found something! A girl messaged me this morning!”

Doyoung’s heart seizes in his chest. “Is she…?”

“Not quite. She’s not your match. But she says she saw a guy with your same tattoo a few days ago in Seoul, at Gwangjang Market.”

Donghyuck freezes, the next Cheeto suspended inches above his lips. “I...am a god,” he says with a sort of hushed reverence. But Doyoung isn’t focused on him anymore. He’s still hung up on Johnny’s revelation, a foreign sensation creeping down his spine.

“You said some guy?” he clarifies.

“Yeah, she didn't catch his name, but she remembers the tattoo.” The look in his eyes makes it clear he knows the real question being asked. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just...not what I expected,” Doyoung settles on.

Johnny shrugs. “I remember your poor date at the end-of-year dance.”

“ _You_ were my date because I didn’t have a real one.”

“And you spent the whole night stealing glances at that fifth-year in our organic chem lab.”

Huh. In retrospect, Doyoung can’t really argue with him.

“Now that we’re done with _that_ ,” Donghyuck cuts in, “can we focus back in on more important things like how I AM A GOD?”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Johnny counters, shoving Donghyuck’s legs out of the way so he can take a seat. “And clearly the most important thing is that we found a lead at all. I mean, come on. What are the chances? This has to be Fate pulling you together.”

“There’s no such thing as Fate,” Doyoung says on reflex, voice flat.

“Right. It’s just total coincidence we managed to catch the attention of one girl out of billions who recognized the exact tattoo on your arm.”

“If she’s telling the truth.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “I’m ignoring you now that you’ve reached your cynical-as-a-defense-mechanism phase. This is _amazing_ , Doyoung. Your two weeks notice runs out on Friday, and then we’re getting you on a plane this weekend as fast as you can pack.”

“My intuition has never been wrong,” Donghyuck adds. “You’ve gotta’ go.”

It’s hard to argue with both of them when they’ve made up their minds. If it were anyone else, Doyoung would be a little resentful of that fact. But he knows Johnny and Donghyuck do want the best for him, even if they sometimes have an interesting way of showing it. And besides, he wouldn’t have had the guts to quit his job or even consider getting on a flight if it weren’t for the two voices at his shoulder reassuring him that he’s not throwing away so much hard work for nothing.

What was that saying about needing to tear it all down to start anew? Doyoung sincerely hopes that’s actually transformative and not a load of bullshit.

“Well,” he finally relents, crossing his arms. “Who wants to help me book some airline tickets?

Johnny gets up so fast, he nearly drops his laptop.

✈

Equal parts spite and a tentatively growing excitement do get Doyoung on a plane out of the US and all the way to the other side of the world. Instinct makes him want to gravitate toward the first, but it’s harder to tap into that negative energy when Johnny and Donghyuck had made such a point of giving him an enthusiastic send-off at the airport. So instead, he tries to focus on the positive. Or, at the very least, he tries to stay in the moment.

Being back in Seoul after all this time feels strange. He grew up nearby enough for it to feel vaguely like a homecoming, but it’s been so long that it still feels almost foreign. He walks a very thin line between feeling like an outsider and feeling like he’s back among his own. (Or maybe the line really isn’t that thin. Maybe it’s more than just one or the other.)

Doyoung is sure of one thing: time is not on his side. After he touches down and drops off his single suitcase at the hotel, he beelines straight for Gwangjang Market. The sun has started to hang low in the sky as afternoon fades into early evening, and the crowds are out in full force as they peruse the lines of vendor stalls. The smells from a plethora of different foods make Doyoung’s mouth water. He has to physically pull himself away from one particular tteokbokki stall before it gets the best of him. No distractions, no getting sidetracked.

The girl on that matchmaking website had mentioned seeing Doyoung’s soulmate at a bindaetteok stall, which means that’s where he has to start his search. Normally, that would be a helpful hint...except for the fact that Gwangjang is literally known for its bindaetteok. That’s like looking for one snowflake in a blizzard. Still, Doyoung sucks it up and talks to a few scattered vendors, slipping back into his mother tongue with a clunky start that quickly rights itself as he gets back into practice.

Most people he talks to are sympathetic, though they can’t do much to help him. They frown apologetically at Doyoung’s exposed tattoo, telling him about what he expected: they see too many people each day to remember one tattoo in particular, they hadn’t been looking.

“Try Haeseul and Nayoung’s stall down this row and to your left,” one man suggests. “They’ve always been better with faces.”

Doyoung thanks him and follows the instructions, finding a pair of elderly women manning a small stall sandwiched between soondae and kimbap displays. He greets them with a bow, orders two bindaetteok to not be rude, and settles down on the bench in front of the stall while he waits for them to start frying.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” Doyoung says to the woman closest to him, “but have you seen a man here recently with a tattoo just like this one?”

She looks up from frying to squint at his arm, studying it for a few long seconds. The same apologetic looks starts to come over her expression that Doyoung is starting to grow weary of, but then something seems to click. “Wait...Haeseul! Do you remember that nice young man who stepped in to help last week?”

“I was out sick that day,” the other woman says with a huff, clearly not explaining this for the first time. “You told me that’s why you were glad he was here to help.”

“And I don’t suppose I mentioned his name?”

“I stopped listening after the third time you brought it up, telling me not to take another sick day.”

The first woman mutters something under her breath, though the brief smile and mutual shake of the head they share betrays the fondness between them. “Well, I do know that he was here,” she tells Doyoung. “The stall was down a person, and he volunteered to help cook. Didn’t ask for anything in return, just wanted to help. He wasn’t the greatest at it, mind you, but he made good conversation with the customers, so they didn’t notice a little too much crisp around the edges.”

She smiles wryly, tapping her head. “No name in here, though. The only thing I have room for in this brain is how to make damn good bindaetteok. Nice and perfectly━”

“Nayoung, you forgot to take it out of the fryer.”

“I was _getting_ to that!”

Doyoung is so excited about this new lead that it hardly seems like the time for eating, but one bite into the first pancake changes his mind instantly. The outside crunches beneath his teeth only to melt in his mouth, drawing out an appreciative groan from his lips. “This is incredible,” he says between bites. How is he supposed to ever eat anything else?

“You hear that? Incredible. What was that about losing my touch?”

“The boy is clearly distressed from hunting for his soulmate. He’s not thinking clearly.”

More good-natured grumbling. Before the moment passes, Doyoung reluctantly pulls away from the rest of his bindaetteok and asks, “Did he say where he was going next? I’m trying to catch up to him before the trail goes cold.”

“Now there’s a tough one.” The woman drums her fingers against the wooden surface, furrowing her eyebrows while she thinks. “He was going to meet up with someone in particular, someone with a strange name. And he was excited, because he was finally going back home to...China? No, Japan! He was going to meet someone named ‘Hinode’ at Mount Fuji. Take _that_ , Haeseul.”

The other woman nods, looking genuinely impressed. Doyoung only glances at her for a second before he hastily gets to his feet, bowing to the first woman a few more times than is probably necessary. “Thank you so, so much for your help,” he said fervently, grabbing the remainder of his bindaetteok. “I don’t want to be rude by leaving so soon, but…”

“Go get him!” she says with enthusiasm, holding her tongs pointedly in his direction.

“Thank you again━”

“Go!”

Doyoung shoves the last bite into his mouth and turns to do just that. He has half a mind to run, but figures that everyone else here would frown on him barreling past. Instead, he walks back through the market with a spring in his step and a smile on his face. Who cares if he looks like a fool? He has a way forward. He can do this.

Fate, if it really is out there, hasn’t gotten the best of him yet.

✈

Getting to Mt. Fuji’s base is, thankfully, not as difficult as it could have been. It’s still climbing season, which means it’s not a mess of snow and wind. Crowds are large, but Doyoung has seen much worse in cities back across the ocean.

The mountain itself is breathtaking upon approach. He sees why it draws tourists in by the thousands. But unlike most people here today, his next immediate thought staring up towards the top is how ecstatic he is not to be climbing it. He’ll leave that kind of supposed ‘fun’ to professionals and misled youth with far too much energy.

As he makes his way forward through the crowds, Doyoung catches sight of what looks to be a tour group clustered around a Japanese woman, quickly scurrying off with a slew of thankful smiles and half-bows. Someone who can help out visitors like him, maybe?

“Excuse me,” he starts in English without thinking, then, “ _Oh, sorry, I mean━_ ”

“I can speak English as well, Sir,” she says pleasantly, and Doyoung mentally thanks his lucky stars. His Japanese is elementary at best, unintelligible at its worst.

“I’m actually looking for someone I was told would be at the base of the mountain. His name is ‘Hinode’ ━ have you heard of anyone with that name?”

She shakes her head, a hint of laughter contained behind her smile. “ _Hinode_ isn’t a man; it’s a hiking group that regularly scales the mountain. As far as I know, they’re currently at the summit.”

Doyoung takes another look up, up, up, and...yeah. No. His idea of exercise is some light calisthenics, maybe a treadmill if he’s feeling crazy. That’s just not happening. “Looks like I’ll be waiting for their return, then,” he tells her. “Thank you for your help.”

A slight change in plans, but this can still work. With luck, his soulmate could still be with the group. All he needs is a closer place to stay, maybe another book to keep him occupied━

“Hey, Mister!”

He’s made it maybe twenty feet when a hand taps the back of his shoulder, revealing a boy who can’t be out of his teens at the other end.

“It’s Doyoung,” Doyoung says immediately, because ‘Mister’ makes him feel way too old. “Did you need something?”

“I heard you talking to that woman. Not that I was eavesdropping!” he quickly amends. “But I know the group you mentioned. _Hinode_ means ‘sunrise’ in Japanese.”

“Let me guess. They hike up there to see the sunrise?”

“And photograph it, yeah. They’re pros. They’ll be camped out near the summit for at least the next few days to get the best shots. If you want to see them, you’ll have to hike.”

It’s not an exaggeration to say that Doyoung is appalled by the thought. He doesn’t bother looking up again; the earlier analysis he’d done had been enough to show him what a bad idea it would be. “Look, kid,” he insists, “I’m not exactly built for hiking. I wouldn’t know the first thing about making it to the top without getting myself killed.”

“Then I’ll help you! I’ve been up and down the mountain enough times to be a pretty good guide. I’m Mark, by the way.”

The name almost escapes Doyoung’s notice when he’s still hung up on the offer of help out of nowhere. It seems unlikely. Unless...actually, that’s a very recognizable sash peeking out from under Mark’s jacket. “Because you’ll get a badge?”

“What?” Mark looks genuinely confused until he looks down and sees what Doyoung’s referring to. “Oh, this. No, I’m done with Boy Scouts. Already earned all the badges I wanted. I just worked too hard for them to not wear it around, you know?”

“Uh huh.”

Doyoung still isn’t entirely sold on tagging along with a chipper ex-Boy Scout who’s clearly much more enthusiastic about this whole hiking business. Still, he knows that if he sticks it out and waits for _Hinode_ to return to the ground, and if his soulmate isn’t with them, he’ll have thrown away valuable time. Days of it. That’s not something he can justify, even with how sore he already knows his body will be. And he wasn’t joking about dying without assistance, either.

“I’d appreciate your help,” he finally concedes. “How fast can you get us up there?”

Mark positively beams. “Leave it to me.”

✈

The fresh hell that Doyoung is sure awaits him thankfully doesn’t start right off the bat. Mark insists on taking him to one of the nearby gift shops to get a warmer coat and plenty of snacks for the hike. Kind of a strange feeling to be taken care of by a teenager, but Doyoung is well aware that he has no clue what he’s doing. He’s not about to turn down his best chance at catching up with his still-unnamed soulmate, age be damned.

After Mark gives their supplies an all-clear, they take a bus to the start of the trail, during which the ex-Boy Scout details the plan to get them to the summit just in time for tomorrow’s sunrise.

“You can’t come all the way here, hike all the way to the top, and then miss the sunrise,” he insists. Doyoung hasn’t the knowledge nor the footing to refute him.

They grab an early dinner near the trailhead, and then the trek begins in earnest.

The most memorable part of the hike for the first three hours is the cold. Without his thicker jacket, Doyoung would be even more miserable shivering in the cold and wind. The higher they ascend, the thinner the air gets, so that it feels like he’s overexerting himself in quicker bursts. He has to work twice as hard to get air into his lungs and keep his protesting legs taking a few more steps. If this is what actual climbing season is like, he’d hate to see it off-season.

The second thing Doyoung remembers most is the company. He’d admittedly thought Mark’s animated personality would grate on his nerves the more tired his body grew. In reality, it makes the time pass much faster, regular periods of light-hearted conversation helping to take Doyoung’s mind off of how much he hates himself (and his soulmate, too, if he’s being honest) for doing this.

It’s dark by the time they make it to the mountain hut Mark had set as their goal. They pay their yen at the door, and Doyoung nearly collapses to the floor in relief at finally getting a break. The two of them huddle together some distance away from the other hikers, quietly sharing their provided meals, and Doyoung figures he should probably return some of the kindness Mark has shown him.

“So. You never did ask why I need to get to the top of the mountain.”

“Oh, yeah. About that…” Mark swallows another quick spoonful of soup, looking sheepish. “I mean, I probably should’ve asked, but I just assumed it was a soulmate thing. You don’t exactly seem like the type who generally likes doing outdoorsy stuff.” He grimaces at his own words, tacking on, “No offense.”

“Maybe I’m easier to read than I thought.”

“You’re doing great, though! If I hadn’t taken this trail so many times I probably wouldn’t even notice━”

“Kid, it’s fine. I’m clearly dying. I accept that about myself. My calling in life is obviously not anything even resembling the outdoors.”

“But maybe it’s your soulmate’s?” Mark asks, and Doyoung swears his eyes are actually _sparkling_. A romantic. Had Doyoung ever had that kind of look on his face, even years ago? It feels just beyond his reach, like he can nearly brush it with his fingertips if he can just━

_Not the time._

“Um, maybe? God, I hope not. Or if he does, he sure as hell better not try to drag me along.”

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t have that yet, but who knows? Maybe he’ll magically be waiting for me at the summit. I can collapse at his feet and demand he carry me all the way back down. It’ll be super romantic.”

Doyoung’s not expecting Mark to laugh, necessarily, but the sudden silence is jarring. When he glances over, Mark is staring at him wordlessly, a perplexed look on his face as he tries to put together whatever question is on the tip of his tongue. “You mean,” he finally asks, “that you somehow knew to come all the way here and decided to climb a whole mountain to find your soulmate, and you don’t even know his name? How did you even…?”

“Luck, mostly. That, and an annoyingly persistent roommate.”

“But...why? Why the rush to find him when you don’t know anything about him?”

“I’m learning some things as I go,” Doyoung defends himself. “And I don’t have a choice besides rushing. Time isn’t exactly on my side here.”

He rolls his sleeve up to expose the tattoo there, glaring at that stupid anemone flower (was the second petal wilting the last time he checked? The first is definitely gone). Mark’s expression morphs into the polar opposite of the excitement he’d had earlier, so much sadness there that Doyoung immediately hides the offending ink.

“That’s…”

“Impossible? Unfair? Incredibly depressing? All of the above. It’s still crazy coming all the way out here, but━”

“You’re not crazy,” Mark interrupts him, over his initial shock. “This is like...one of the bravest things I’ve seen someone do. Packing it all up and leaving everything behind to fight against your destiny? That’s awesome.”

It’s definitely frostbite or hypothermia or _something_ that has this teenager’s validation making Doyoung’s eyes tear up at the corners. Shit, is this the first time someone has admired him for doing something that they might want to do, too? Not just a passive “It’s crazy he managed to do that” but an actual “I want to be like him”?

“I’m trying, at least. Thanks,” he mutters, inadequate but genuine. “How long do we have to sleep?”

“Right.” Mark sets his empty bowl to the side so he can pull out his notepad, squinting between the pages and his wristwatch. “Four hours tops.”

Four hours. On the bright side, Doyoung won’t have to worry about his pride or the sleep deprivation for much longer. Because he’ll be dead.

✈

Mark’s phone alarm goes off much too soon. Doyoung nearly trips over the threshold as they step back out into the dark and cold, trying to disappear further into his jacket. He shivers beneath the layers and tries to keep his breathing even as Mark leads the way with his trusty flashlight. No human being, Doyoung decides, is meant to be awake at 2am.

For two more hours, they hike in silence, too tired now to make conversation. Though Doyoung can practically hear his limbs screaming in protest, he keeps pace for the last stretch of the trail. He almost lets out something to the effect of “Take that, legs” before he remembers that Mark somehow thinks he’s kind of cool. That seems like a one-way ticket to break that very fragile illusion.

A little before 4am, they finally reach the summit. They manage to nab a spot relatively near the edge to sit on top of some rocks, which Mark insists will give them the perfect view. “This better have been worth it,” Doyoung warns, but Mark’s grin doesn’t falter in the slightest.

“It will be.”

He can’t be totally lying, because there are crowds of other people packed into the area, each group looking for their own perfect spot to settle. Doyoung wonders how so many people could voluntarily put themselves through this much suffering before he realizes that was his life for the last ten plus years and promptly derails that train of thought. No existential crisis right now, thank you very much. It’s way too early, and he just climbed a whole goddamn mountain.

“There it is!” Mark suddenly says, finger shooting out toward the horizon. “Watch.”

So Doyoung does. He glues his eyes to the faint strip of red appearing in the distance. And in the minutes that follow, the cold and the wind and the sore muscles suddenly seem insignificant. Doyoung watches in awed silence as the red steadily grows to reveal the morning sun, illuminating the sky in an exploding curtain of light and color. This is...incredible. How had he not known?

Mark isn’t watching the sunrise. Doyoung finds out this much when he turns and finds Mark already looking at him with undisguised glee. “What?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious.

“I love when people get to see it for the very first time. Come on, wasn’t I right? Wasn’t it worth it?”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘I told you so’. I get it,” Doyoung mutters. Then, sincerely, “Thanks for bringing me up here. I mean it.”

Mark’s smile grows. He opens his mouth to hopefully say something more heartfelt than “I told you so,” but then his eyes go wide. “That’s them!” he exclaims. “Kimura-sensei and the others!”

He all but drags Doyoung to his feet and between the lingering crowds. In any other situation, Doyoung would be offended, but if “the others” means what he thinks it does, he can forgive the lack of personal boundaries.

On the edge of the summit protruding closest to the fading sunrise, Mark brings them to a halt. A small group of photographers are hard at work, adjusting tripods and DSLR lenses alike. One woman in the center seems to be supervising the rest. When she sees Mark, she instantly lights up in recognition. Kimura, then. She must be.

“Look who didn’t oversleep this time,” she says with a grin, breaking from the circle of photographers.

“That was one time!” Mark protests, but there’s no real defensiveness there. “Sensei, there’s someone I wanted to introduce to you. This is Doyoung.”

Kimura’s eyes shift their focus, acute in their intensity. Doyoung has always been told his gaze was sharp. Now he thinks he understands what it must be like on the other side. “It’s good to meet a friend of Mark’s,” Kimura says by way of greeting. “Are you a photographer? Hiker?”

“Neither,” Doyoung admits. He resists the urge to wince at her raised eyebrow. “I’m looking for someone, and the trail led me to you. Maybe you could help me find him.”

“It’s his soulmate,” Mark cuts in, unable to contain his enthusiasm. “Show her your tattoo.”

At least Doyoung is starting to feel less self-conscious about this, now that he’s done it so many times. He rolls up his sleeve to show off the flower, and Kimura’s eyes immediately narrow. “Interesting. Not anyone in _Hinode_ , but maybe...you said the trail led you to us. When would he have been here?”

“A few days ago, probably.”

“Mark, when did I last meet you coming down the mountain? Friday?”

“Thursday. Do you think you met him on the trail?”

“I must have. It happens occasionally, a hiker wanting some company on the descent.” She suddenly snaps her fingers. “I _do_ remember. There was a young man on the last climb who joined us for most of the stretch. Stayed holed up with the group at the mountain hut, even.”

“What was he like?” Mark asks excitedly, sparing Doyoung from having to himself.

“I liked him, and I don’t say that lightly. Insightful, athletic, could actually keep up with me ━ that’s harder than it looks. He was a good addition, while it lasted. But I’m guessing you want to know where he was heading.”

“I do,” Doyoung tells her, heart somewhere in his throat.

“He said that he wanted a change of scenery after the climb, said he needed to see more before he returned home for good. Paris, I remember. He didn’t say exactly what he’ll be up to, but if I had to guess? I’d try the Louvre. When you’ve already seen nature’s best artwork, the only option left is man-made.”

Paris. Right. Doyoung doesn’t want to think about the sheer amount of ‘city of love’ jokes he’ll hear from Johnny when his roommate finds out about the next stop. It’s not a short flight, either. But then, neither were the last two. A small price to pay if Doyoung is still on the right track, and that really does seem to be the case. The only thing that could even better keep him pointed in the right direction would be…

“Did you happen to catch his name?”

He’s prepared for disappointment. It would be unrealistic to expect anyone to recall the name of a stranger who they’d had such a fleeting interaction with. Which is why the air is sucked from his lungs when she answers, “Actually, I did. Got it from him right before we parted ways at the base of the mountain. Yuta. Nakamoto Yuta.”

Suddenly, Doyoung feels like he could climb another mountain.

✈

Paris is...interesting. Upon his arrival, Doyoung is made immediately aware that the city isn’t quite the romantic getaway that all the films and romance novels make it out to be. It’s dirty, crowded, full of far too many street vendors and assorted scammers trying to stop him.

But the worst part of Paris is definitely the metro. Doyoung takes once look at the mess of a map with all of its different colored lines and just about walks back up to street level. Then a different, more rational part of his brain convinces him to stay. Not the usual, crippling realist-cop who usually pops up, but a pointed deadpan that reminds him: hey, he just managed to find one bindaetteok stall in the middle of an entire street market _and_ climbed a damn mountain. Surely he can manage to figure out a train. Which...fair point.

Doyoung taps his metro pass against the nearest scanner and gets on the train at Volontaires, determined to make this work. Theoretically, it shouldn’t be a difficult trip. One line switch, and then it’s only a matter of getting off at the right time. After settling into a fortunately open seat, Doyoung takes his first long moment in a while to assess his tattoo, bracing himself before studying the ink. And what he finds there is...surprising. A little frightening, if he’s being honest with himself (and he’s at least trying to be that now).

The flower is down to three petals out of five, the third drooping dangerously low. This is much faster than how it was at the beginning, almost like the tattoo knows he’s started paying attention. Like it’s determined to erase itself faster and faster the closer Doyoung gets to his destination.

_Fuck you, too_ , Doyoung thinks with a matter-of-fact sort of bitterness, and he promptly rolls down his sleeve. He hasn’t come this far just to run out of time.

For the first leg of the journey, Doyoung spends most of it vaguely people-watching. His eyes pass over the disheveled teenager typing away on his phone, the family of six trying to keep it together near the train doors, the two lovebirds curled into each other near the back. After a line switch that goes much smoother than he feared, he takes in a new cast of characters on the other train in much the same fashion.

He’s only snapped out of his thoughts a few stops in when a man who must be in his mid-twenties slides into the seat next to him with a polite smile. The man looks Korean, but Doyoung doesn’t want to assume anything further, so he stays quiet. He sneaks a few furtive glances at his seatmate instead, who’s too absorbed with bobbing along to whatever music is coming from his earbuds to notice.

_Don’t be rude, Doyoung_ , he tells himself. _Even if he_ is _Korean, that doesn’t mean he speaks the language. And just because you’re going through a nostalgic phase with your mother tongue when you’re surrounded by Parisians who don’t want you to give you or your English the time of day doesn’t mean━ Wait._

Doyoung’s gaze drops down to where the man is scribbling in his notebook, some bulleted notes about different paintings, and promptly realizes he can read said notes because they’re written in the same language he was trying not to assume. Before he can overthink it, Doyoung taps the man on the shoulder, giving him an apologetic smile when he pulls one earbud out. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, “but do you speak Korean?”

The wariness in the man’s expression instantly evaporates, bringing a much more genuine smile to his face. “Yes!” he says, then more quietly, “Yes. Sorry, I haven’t gotten to communicate in anything but subpar French for the past month.”

“Glad I could rescue you. You’re an art critic?”

“Student, actually. I’m on a study abroad program for my master’s degree. Have to go back to the Louvre today to take some final notes on a few more paintings.” He shuts his mouth suddenly, like he’s afraid he’s saying too much. “I’m Taeyong.”

“Doyoung,” Doyoung introduces himself in turn.

“And now that I’ve talked your ear off, what are you here for, Doyoung?”

“Same destination as you, but not quite the same reason. I’m trying to catch up with my soulmate, which is turning out to be even more complicated than I thought. He doesn’t exactly like to stay in one place.”

Taeyong takes out his other earbud, too, invested now. He has that same excited shimmer in his eyes that had been in Mark’s at the mention of a soulmate, which gives Doyoung pause. He’s so used to Johnny’s passiveness at the idea and his own buried emotions that he’d never really thought about people getting _excited_ over this sort of thing.

“A soulmate...wow,” Taeyong breathes. “Is there any way I can help?”

“Not making any ‘city of love’ comments is plenty helpful,” Doyoung can’t help but answer, earning himself a too-loud guffaw.

“Seriously,” Taeyong presses. “Maybe I can help you look at the Louvre. Or maybe I’ve seen him before?”

“I don’t really have much of a description. Around my age, Japanese, has an anemone tattoo just like me. I had to climb all the way to the top of Mt. Fuji to finally find out that his name is Nakamoto━”

“━Yuta,” Taeyong finishes for him, eyes wide, and Doyoung chokes on air.

“Excuse me?”

“Yuta!” Taeyong repeats, drawing a few glares from the other passengers. “I know him! We took the train together and got to talking with each other. That was...two days ago, I think? But Yuta wasn’t going to the Louvre; he was going to a different art museum: the Musée d'Orsay.”

It must show on Doyoung’s face how his heart sinks, because Taeyong immediately shakes his head, reassuring him, “It’s a pretty short walk from the Louvre, so don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get there in one piece after our stop.”

And to think that Doyoung had seriously considered not even starting this conversation. He thanks Taeyong profusely, sinking into his seat with a mere fraction of the tension he’d had when he first boarded. He’s about to zone out for the rest of the ride when he notices that Taeyong is holding out one of his earbuds. It’s not like Doyoung has to be hyper-aware of missing his stop when he has his personal guardian angel here with him, so he accepts the offer gladly, settling it into his left ear━

━and nearly pops a blood vessel because that is _definitely_ the sound of Youngho’s indie-rock band playing in his ear. “You’re, uh...a fan of The Suhkers?” he asks with what’s hopefully considered a neutral expression.

The nod Taeyong gives him is equal parts enthusiastic and shy, the kind of reaction that comes out when you’re sharing something that’s close to your heart. “A big fan,” he admits in what’s probably an understatement. “I’ve just always felt drawn to their music, you know?”

Doyoung obliges him with a tilt of his head that could probably read as “yes” and not “I wouldn't know because I’ve heard enough half-baked demos to become numb to enjoying it”. What a small world, he thinks as he settles back in for the rest of the trip. If this series of happy coincidences is the universe’s way of apologizing to him, he’s almost inclined to accept. Or maybe not an apology at all...balance? An impossible situation for impossible luck? The threads of reality fraying at the seams because Kim Doyoung finally decided to kill the person he used to be in cold blood?

His philosophical rabbit hole is eventually interrupted, probably for the better, by Taeyong’s light tapping on his shoulder ━ their stop. After pushing past the other passengers and climbing back up a few sets of stairs, they’re finally back in the sunlight. Despite Doyoung’s half-hearted protests, Taeyong insists on walking them the ten minutes across the river that it takes to get to the other museum. He says that he doesn’t want Doyoung getting lost, which might also be true, but it’s painfully obvious that he’s excited to help play Cupid for a little while longer. Doyoung sees no harm in indulging him, especially when he can use that ten minutes to find out everything he can about Nakamoto Yuta.

“He’s forward,” Taeyong tells him, a fond look on his face. “Intense. Sometimes I think it can put people off. But he’s also sweet. When you talk, he really listens. It was nice to be around someone like that for a change.” He takes one more quick glance at Doyoung, biting back a smile, and adds, “He’s handsome, too. Just so you know.”

If it were Johnny, Doyoung would seriously consider pushing him off the bridge. As it stands, he lets out a sort-of snort, hopes his ears aren’t turning red, and quickly changes the subject. Childish, probably, but there’s a gap in his mind between “finding the person who matches my tattoo” and “finding the person the universe thinks I’m going to fall in love with” that he hasn’t exactly bridged yet.

Sure, he likes what he’s heard about Yuta second-hand, has occasionally entertained the thought of what it will be like once they meet face to face. He’s endeared to the image of Yuta that he’s conjured up in his mind. A lot, actually. But thinking of him as a fated romance, as...what, his boyfriend? That’s territory Doyoung’s not sure how he feels about.

“We’re here,” Taeyong tells him, finally coming to a halt. “The museum entrance is just through that door.”

A guardian angel indeed. Doyoung fishes out his wallet to grab a few bills as thanks, but Taeyong gently turns him down. “Let me give you my phone number instead,” he says. His eyes go wide a moment later. “Oh, I mean━ not like that, sorry. Didn’t realize how it sounded. I’d really like to know if you find him.”

If that’s all he’s asking for in exchange for saving Doyoung from a wild goose chase, Doyoung’s not about to refuse him, even if he’s generally not keen on exchanging contact info with strangers. “Here,” he concedes, holding out his phone. “Text yourself to make sure you put it in right.”

“Thanks.” Taeyong starts to type in his number with careful fingers. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll be the one to find _my_ soulmate.”

“With the week I’ve been having, that might not be out of the question. Can I see it?”

Taeyong absently flips up the edge of his sleeve as he continues to type, revealing a tattoo on the inside of his wrist. And Doyoung stares. Taeyong is too preoccupied texting himself to notice, but Doyoung feels like his head is going to explode. This isn’t a tattoo he needs to commit to memory, because it’s one he already knows well ━ he sees that hummingbird every day without fail on the arm of his best friend.

“ _I’ve always felt drawn to the music, you know?_ ” He can’t let himself laugh, because it’ll come out hysterical. How does he even bring this up? Should he? Doyoung finds himself torn between wanting to believe that Fate might do its thing and not wishing this kind of insane hunt on a friend. The old him would have cut to the chase. He knows that for a fact. But maybe the trip so far has made him think ━just a little━ that there’s something to the old adage of the journey being just as important as the destination.

That’s why, when Taeyong’s own phone buzzes and he passes Doyoung’s back with a satisfied smile, Doyoung stops him from leaving for just a moment longer. “Listen, Taeyong,” he says. “Maybe there’s something else I can do to thank you. The Suhkers have the European leg of their tour at the end of the summer, and I should be able to get you a backstage pass to one of the shows. If you wanted to meet the band, that is.”

Taeyong’s eyes are even wider than on the train. “Are you serious?”

“I kind of...know a guy who knows a guy, let’s say. I’ll talk to him and get it coordinated.”

“Oh my god.”

If they were both the hugging type, Doyoung senses this is when that moment would have happened. Instead, Taeyong vigorously shakes Doyoung’s hand, thanking him sincerely on every pump. They part ways with one final “Good luck” from Taeyong, and Doyoung shakes his head as he watches the other man walk back to the bridge with barely contained excitement. Maybe he’s not so sure about his lack of belief in a benevolent universe, after all.

The lingering shock of the Taeyong revelation helps ease the sting of the inevitable near-miss that the Musée d'Orsay turns out to be. Doyoung does, however, run into a tour guide who remembers Yuta’s tattoo and next destination. It’s admittedly disappointing when it felt like everything might be coming together, but it’s still a lead. Doyoung can’t take that for granted.

Just as importantly, Doyoung can’t help himself when he calls Johnny that night to give him both a brief update and a heartfelt “I hate you, you lucky bastard.” Johnny is rightfully confused, but all Doyoung will give him is “You’ll see.” He’ll make sure of that.

At the very least, one good thing will come out of all this insanity.

✈

Yuta’s most prominent trait, Doyoung has determined, is never staying in one place for too long. It should be frustrating, and to some degree it still is. But that frustration more often than not takes a back seat to the combination of new clues and new locales that Doyoung never thought he’d lay eyes on. (Maybe he needs this, a healthy dose of denial.)

In Florence, he takes an evening walk along the river and learns that Yuta isn’t a fan of technology, needing to form a connection with someone in person. In Madrid, he eats slow-roasted cochinillo and learns that Yuta hasn’t improved his cooking skills since the time he spent in Seoul. In London, he people-watches near Piccadilly Circus and learns that Yuta isn’t afraid to start a fight over something he believes in ━ or finish one.

The glitz and glamour of each stop aside, Doyoung is starting to grow worried. He’s staying a step ahead of his exhaustion by flitting from lead to lead, but that’s starting to level out with always being one step behind his soulmate. If only there was some way to send a message and get Yuta, at least for a day or two, to _wait_. 

He can do this, Doyoung keeps reminding himself. He can, if only by sheer force of will.

On his phone call to Johnny that evening in London, Doyoung updates him on the last stretch of the trip, a much more composed call than the one they’d shared in Paris. He does his best to paint a picture of the man he’s looking for, both from physical descriptions and otherwise. It’s not perfect, probably, but it keeps him feeling like he’s made progress with each new detail he can add.

Johnny is quiet when Doyoung finishes talking, to the point Doyoung thinks the connection is lost, until he muses, “You sound like you’re in love with him.”

The words pull Doyoung up short. “Is that what I am?” He hadn’t really considered that was the case. It isn’t realistic for him to feel so deeply for someone he’s never met. But then, none of what’s happened to Doyoung, none of what he’s done, has been realistic for a while now. Maybe not love, but…

“We’ll see.”

They wrap up soon after that, but now Doyoung can’t get the thought out of his head. He’s well aware that at the beginning of this whole thing, it wasn’t about Yuta as a person at all. Johnny had known it, had warned him a few more times after the first. Now...Doyoung can’t say for sure. That’s somehow just as terrifying as getting on that initial flight, if not more.

And maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe that fear means he’s finally found something worth fighting for.

✈

Despite his lack of a resounding success story time and time again, Doyoung does make good on his promise to keep Taeyong updated on his quest. It feels a little selfish at first, using him as a way to have scattered breakdowns without scaring Johnny, but judging from how quickly Taeyong texts him back with plentiful emoticons and exclamation points? Doyoung isn’t the only one benefiting here.

In the end, though, it turns out to be more than a healthy outlet. After a particularly clipped report on the state of his tattoo, now down to its last drooping petal, it goes something like this:

**Lee Taeyong (Paris)**

_sorry to hear that :(_

_where r u flying to next?_

**Doyoungie**

_Banff, Canada, apparently._

_With my luck, he’s probably heading out later today…_

**Lee Taeyong (Paris)**

_you can do it!!!!!!!_

The message is followed by several cheering ducks, which actually does put a brief smile on Doyoung’s face. Then, a few moments later:

**Lee Taeyong (Paris)**

_hang on_

_i think i know someone in banff???_

_another grad student_

_want to crash @ his place while you’re there?_

_i could ask him_

**Doyoungie**

_I wouldn’t want to bother him._

**Lee Taeyong (Paris)**

_trust me, you won’t_

_he could use some excitement_

_fresh face = excuse not to write term paper_

Taeyong isn’t one to take no for an answer, and Doyoung has to admit that he likes the sound of saving a few bucks and bunking with an (assumedly) friendly face. So in the end, he caves. When he steps off the plane in Banff, the first thing he does is pull up the address Taeyong sent him and call a cab.

Jung Jaehyun, as it turns out, doesn’t quite hold the same doe-eyed view of soulmates that Taeyong does. That being said, he’s happy to help Doyoung out for a friend’s sake. He offers his spare mattress as a place for Doyoung to crash for a few days, and he hears out Doyoung’s vague clues that have brought him over to this corner of the world (though Doyoung suspects the latter has something to do with the empty document visibly open on Jaehyun’s laptop).

“So.” Jaehyun stretches out in his chair, cracking his neck on either side while he thinks. “You’re looking for something your soulmate hasn’t done before, and something that he’d do to unwind.”

“Along those lines. You don’t happen to just _know_ a Nakamoto Yuta, do you?”

A corner of Jaehyun’s mouth curls. “Nope. Trust me, Taeyong asked. Several times. And on that note...you do know that your luck is kind of insane, right? If it were anyone else telling me the story, I wouldn't have believed them.”

“What can I say?” Doyoung says with a half-shrug. “But none of it is good luck if it only gets me a step behind.”

“Fair enough. No more time to waste, then.”

He moves to slip his shoes back on. Doyoung follows on instinct, grateful to be on the move, but he’s admittedly caught off guard. “You know where we’re going?”

“Not a clue. Still, I might not know much about soulmates, but I can tell when someone is running out of time. Let’s go.”

Jung Jaehyun might not be a romantic, but he does get shit done.

✈

They do turn out to have more of a plan than Jaehyun had made it sound. He starts up his car and brings them to the visitor’s center, where they begin to leaf through brochures and postcards that capture what exactly this small Alberta town has to offer. Doyoung is baffled why Jaehyun doesn’t have some clue already, living here and all, but then he remembers: grad student. Doyoung himself had never gone as far as a master’s degree, but he can still understand not leaving the confines of your living space as the work piles up. He’d lived that.

Banff, while small, has its fair share of tourist pulls. There’s a scattering of small locales within the actual town, but every brochure seems to keep circling back to a destination just outside of the outer bounds. Doyoung is less than enthusiastic about said destination. “Please tell me we’re not heading where I think we are,” he all but groans.

Jaehyun takes a look at the column of postcards he’s pointing to, looking genuinely confused. “What’s so bad about Banff National Park? It’s supposed to be beautiful.”

“It’s a national park. With mountains. If I have to do any more hiking this trip, I’ll head straight home.” No he won’t. He’ll suffer through it, which makes it even worse.

“I mean…” Jaehyun grabs one of the postcards and studies it for a moment. “It’s probably not what we’re looking for. You said you already went hiking in the mountains?”

“Not exactly something you can forget.”

“Then it’s not something new. And I don’t know what your soulmate considers ‘unwinding,’ but if I had to take a guess?” He places a different postcard in Doyoung’s hands.

“The hot springs? That’s━” He’s going to say “unlikely” until he goes back over the clues in his head. Actually, it might be genius. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Jaehyun nods like he hadn’t expected another answer. Either he’s that cocky or Doyoung is coming off more desperate than he’d like. Probably the latter. 

The Banff Upper Hot Springs are a short drive from the town center in Jaehyun’s car. The filled parking lot makes Doyoung wince in anticipation of the crowds, but they do manage to find an open spot not too far from the entrance. One locker and swimsuit rental later (and coming to the conclusion that the two of them have very different opinions on wearing shirts in public pools), they settle against a free section of the ledge. Doyoung allows his muscles to finally do some relaxing in the warm water. If he’s going to fly all the way to small-town Canada, he’s earned a little actual vacation time.

“Doyoung?”

“Mm?”

“I thought you’d be going ballistic by now questioning tourists.”

The only thing stopping Doyoung from rolling his eyes is his gratitude for Jaehyun owning and willingly operating a vehicle. “Trust me, I’m still on edge inside. I’m just very good at compartmentalizing.”

Another nod, which is probably the most tactful answer he could get. Doyoung is about to abandon his comfortable spot to start searching when a hand grabs his shoulder, keeping him against the wall. He shoots Jaehyun a glare, but sees the other man press a finger to his lips, jerking his head in the direction of the two girls standing further in the pool.

“━was so handsome, wasn’t he?” Doyoung can overhear if he tunes in to their conversation. “But he had a lot on his mind. Or maybe I’m imagining things.”

“No, you’re right,” her friend reassures her, untangling where the end of her ponytail has started knot up in the water. “Which means he’s not worth your time. Good looks and a mind that’s always somewhere else mean trouble.”

“If you say so…”

The look Doyoung sends Jaehyun this time is thoroughly unimpressed. “You’re not serious?” What he’s gathered about Yuta doesn’t exactly line up with the ‘mysterious bad boy’ type that the girls are laying out. 

“Let’s find out.”

There’s not even time to protest before Jaehyun is off the wall and deeper into the water. Doyoung reluctantly follows in his wake. He’s just in time to catch Ponytail’s look of mild suspicion, the way that the first girl’s ━Space Buns━ eyes keep dropping a little too low to be looking at Jaehyun’s face. (Objectively, it’s not like he can fault her for it. It still makes him roll his eyes, just a little.)

“━couldn’t help but overhear you,” Jaehyun is saying. “My friend here is looking for his soulmate, and we think he might have come this way. Did the man you met mention his name?”

Space Buns still looks a little lost for words. It’s Ponytail who speaks up first, admitting, “No, he just talked with us for a few minutes before he left. He kept saying it was nice to do something new for a change and relax. Seemed like an outdoorsy type.”

There’s no way. Doyoung thought this kind of coincidence wouldn’t faze him anymore, but he was wrong. If these girls were still here, it couldn’t have been that long ago, could it? Could he finally…?

“Did he say anything about where he was going?”

“Some art gallery back in town,” Space Buns pipes up, finally recovering. “Canada...House? No idea why he’d pick art of all things.”

Ponytail shrugs. “It’s relaxing.”

Jaehyun and Doyoung share a brief look before Jaehyun is thanking them with a smile and leading them both on a rapid walk back to the lockers. It’s only when they’re dried off and back in Jaehyun’s car that Doyoung asks, “How did you know?”

Jaehyun grins. “With your luck? I figured there was no way it wasn’t _something_. I guess Taeyong wasn’t exaggerating after all.”

✈

Doyoung’s heart beats loud in his ears as they drive back to town. This is it. All signs point to Yuta being at the gallery right now, and this will probably be his last chance. He can feel in his bones that by tomorrow, his tattoo will be gone. One more chance to give Fate the middle finger. One more chance to prove he can change. And most importantly, one more chance to finally find Nakamoto Yuta.

Just before they turn onto the gallery’s street, Doyoung asks Jaehyun to pull over. “I need to do this alone,” he says. Thankfully, Jaehyun seems to understand. Good. Doyoung doesn’t think he could explain in words exactly why.

One beat later and he’s out of the car, turning the corner. The final stretch. His heartbeat sounds like thunder. He lets the hope in his chest come to full blossom, those optimistic petals reaching toward the sun as the final silver one detaches from its stem. No going back now. It’s all or nothing.

A bell dings in Doyoung’s ears as he opens the gallery door. The petal falls. _All or nothing_.

The Canada House Gallery is quaint for a final destination, he thinks. Beautiful, but so small for being the end of all the roads that had converged for him to set foot here. An older man at the counter looks up as he approaches, looking mildly concerned at his appearance. Considering Doyoung had never run that fast in his life, he’s sure he looks like a mess. And as he finds out when he opens his mouth, he’s out of breath.

“One ticket, please.”

Fingers start to hit against the keys, but then they abruptly pause. “Young man, are you feeling alright? Do you need to sit down?”

“No!” Doyoung immediately winces at how the objection explodes from his lips. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to...sorry. I think my soulmate is here. Japanese, around my age, flower tattoo?”

Before the man can say anything, a woman organizing the other counter steps away from her work, gazing at Doyoung curiously. “Are you looking for Yuta?”

Thunder so loud that Doyoung can hardly hear himself think. “Yes. Yes, that’s him. When did he get here? Where can I find him?”

The woman is shorter than him. She has to reach up to lay a hand on his shoulder, and why, _why_ is her face so sad? “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I was talking with him about some of the exhibits, but he left about an hour ago. He’s already on a plane back to Japan. You just missed him.”

Too late. Too late, too late. The stem of Doyoung’s last hope shrivels and dies without a sound.

“Thank you for letting me know, ma’am,” he tells her, voice deceptively steady. “Could I use your bathroom?” She points out the way, and Doyoung excuses himself with a nod.

He walks down the hallway and locks himself safely in one of the stalls, listening to make sure there’s absolutely no one else here. And for the first time in years, Doyoung lets himself break down. Not in anger this time, not in bitterness. He lets the depths of his sorrow roll over him in waves, coming out in muffled sobs. It’s not _fair_ . It would have hurt like hell, but he could have dealt with the tattoo just disappearing. Why draw it out? Why give him _hope_? What was there to gain by being so cruel?

When his body has cried itself out, Doyoung leaves. He doesn’t look into the faces of the people who’d pounded the final nail into his coffin. He doesn’t go back to Jaehyun’s waiting vehicle. He sends a three-word text, _Don’t wait up_ , and rents out an overpriced room that smells like cigarette smoke and shattered illusions.

It’s over.

✈

The sunrise that morning is a muted shade of orange, nothing special. Only if one looked closer could they make out the flecks of gold around the edges, the faded purples streaking near the base of that rising glow. Doyoung knows the colors well, because he’s been sitting here watching it since the first dim light broke over the horizon. He sits and stares and feels no closer to falling asleep than he had for the entire night he’d spent turning restlessly beneath the hotel sheets.

This is all that’s left, he knows. Muted colors, faded sensations. The time for bright, vibrant hues has come and gone. Doyoung almost wants to call the numbness creeping through his body ironic. Isn’t that how he’d felt before, why he’d gone through all this trouble in the first place? But that’s just it: the relapse hurts too much to be brushed off as irony. It’s awful.

He still hasn’t called Johnny. The thought of admitting that all of his friend’s compassion and long nights had amounted to nothing because Doyoung had failed makes him sick to his stomach. Eventually, he’ll need to tell him. Eventually, he’ll need to go home and pick up the pieces of the life he’d tried to throw away. But for now...he’ll sit here on this park bench in Banff and stare at the sunrise.

“This seat taken?”

If it weren’t for the fact that Doyoung recognized the voice, he wouldn’t have bothered with a response. He breaks his staredown with the sunrise to find Jaehyun standing at the bench’s other end, two coffees in hand. Right. The pang of guilt in Doyoung’s gut reminds him that there’s more than one person he’d let down yesterday.

“Go ahead,” he mutters. He turns back to the sky as Jaehyun takes a seat, accepting the offered cup when the other man makes no move to take it back. Not a gift he deserves, probably, but it’s hard to say no to caffeine when he’s strung out on insomnia.

“No luck?”

Doyoung shakes his head. It’s not that talking about it will break him; he just can’t begin to find the words. For a while, they sit in silence and sip on their early-morning coffee. It’s too soon to call it “nice”. Still, it’s something. Doyoung feels less out of touch with reality when there’s someone beside him. Even if he can’t stop thinking about crawling back to the office and begging for his position back, trying to set the house of cards back up that he’d so carelessly blown apart.

Can he really do it, now that he’s seen life without that monochrome lens? If he can’t, what is he supposed to do then? Probably something he should have considered more before he ran off on this insane chase in the first place. This is what he gets for betting everything on Fate or luck or whatever the hell it was being kind.

Jaehyun must notice him spiraling, because he stands up abruptly, finishing off the last drops of his coffee. “Let’s get breakfast,” he says.

Doyoung follows him without complaint. He doesn’t know what else to do.

✈

The streets are livelier than they were when Doyoung left his hotel before the crack of dawn. The hum of passing greetings and passing cars fills in the silence as the city begins to wake. Jaehyun leads them down a path he must know well, pointing out different suggestions for cafes that Doyoung half-listens to. When they pass one on the corner with tinted windows and ebony trim, Doyoung figures it’s as good an option as any.

“This one.”

The bell above the door jingles as they step inside from the crisp morning air. They order and take a seat at one of the open booths, where Doyoung tries to lose himself just for a moment in the faint buzz of conversations and smell of maple syrup.

“You want to talk about it?”

There’s no pity in Jaehyun’s expression, thankfully. Only a sympathetic sort of curiosity that makes the “No” evaporate on Doyoung’s tongue. Wasn’t there something they said about pain? About it being easier to bear if you shared the weight?

“I got there too late,” he says. “Found a woman who knew him by name and everything, but he was already gone. And I could feel it, you know. The tattoo dying. I figured it would just disappear, but it was like a part of me was dying, too. I wouldn’t wish that one anyone.”

An extended silence ticks on for a moment past comfortable. The neutral expression on Jaehyun’s face has been pulled into a shadow of a frown. “Well,” he says, like he’s testing the word. “That’s shit.”

Whatever sound is pulled from Doyoung’s throat isn’t quite a laugh, but it’s as close as he’s going to get. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Their food shows up soon after. A waiter comes with trays balanced on his arms, setting both of their plates in front of them with a polite smile. Doyoung immediately picks up his fork, admittedly excited to dig into his eggs until he realizes that these aren’t eggs at all.

“Excuse me, I think I got someone else’s order,” he tells the waiter, gesturing to the pancakes. “I got an omelette.”

It takes a second for the words to register, and then the waiter is grimacing at his mistake. “Sorry about that. I’ll be right back.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Jaehyun answers for both of them. Doyoung thinks he’s just being nice until he sees the other man honest-to-god checking the waiter out as he walks back to the kitchen.

“Is subtlety not in your personal dictionary?” he asks, unimpressed.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” One look at Doyoung’s expression has Jaehyun instantly caving. “Okay, _fine_. He’s nice to look at. I was looking.”

Doyoung shakes his head and fails to hide his smirk, glad for this moment of amusement in the midst of all the doom and gloom. Thankfully for his grumbling stomach, the waiter returns in no time with the plate of fluffy eggs that he’d been expecting.

“Sorry again,” the man tells him, looking sheepish. “I’ve only been a temp for a couple of days, helping out a cousin. Been a bit flustered since I missed my ride home.”

He inclines his head once more, clearly about to go serve the other tray settled on his outstretched arm, but Doyoung sees the glances Jaehyun is still throwing him and makes a split-second decision. “If it makes you feel any better, my week is definitely going worse than yours.”

He’s not sure exactly what kind of reaction it will get, but the effort to keep him there at least seems to pay off. The waiter seems mildly interested, looking intently at Doyoung. “Try me,” he challenges.

“I’ve spent the last few weeks chasing after a soulmate who apparently doesn’t want to be found. In and out of seven countries, probably banned from the job I quit to go after him, and just when I thought I’d caught up yesterday? Gone. Him and my tattoo. Good luck beating all of that.”

“You know,” Jaehyun points out, “I didn’t notice this morning, but you do still have a bit of it left.” 

Doyoung glances down at his rolled-up sleeve where the silver flower should have been peeking out, skeptical, and sees what Jaehyun is talking about. A wisp of that final petal is still staining his skin, mocking him for his failure. It seems almost sadistic, even in light of everything Fate has done to him lately. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he says with a shrug. “I still failed. Wherever Nakamoto Yuta is, he’ll just have to live without his soulmate.”

A lot of things happen in the next few moments. Doyoung hardly registers the sound of a crash before his lap is full of maple syrup, two freshly made waffles sliding slowly down his chest before they join the rest of the mess. His glass of orange juice is now horizontal, turning his unlucky eggs into a rather unappetizing soup. When Doyoung looks up to meet the waiter’s wide eyes, he’s not sure if he’s about to yell or cry or _what_.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” the waiter quickly apologizes. He quickly picks up the worst of it with the towel tucked into his apron while Doyoung still flounders for a response, but then he goes back to staring.

Doyoung has finally settled on some choice words for what exactly he thinks about the waiter’s apology when the man swallows and says, “Um, hi? I’m Nakamoto Yuta.”

White noise. Doyoung hears it explode between his ears, drowning out any other sound in the cafe. He can feel every other person fall away from his awareness until it’s nothing but the shocked face in front of him, no one but the man he’s been to Hell and back again for (or at least, Paris.) A weak “...what?” dislodges itself from his throat. His orange juice is probably still pooling around his eggs. Doyoung can’t bring himself to care.

Somewhere on the edge of his awareness, Jaehyun clears his throat. He slips out of the booth and pushes Yuta into the seat instead, swiftly retrieving his plate. “I’ll just be...over there,” he tells them. He considers for a moment before taking Doyoung’s plate with the other hand, assumedly to salvage what’s left of the ruined omelette.

Doyoung hardly registers the loss of the food or his companion. He’s too busy convincing himself that this real, this is what he’s been hoping for since he was 12 years old and didn’t know what realistic meant. So this is why he was drawn here in this time of sorrow, was it? That last stupid petal working overtime to drag him over the finish line? He’s feeling so much that he can’t even put a name to it.

“What’s your name?” Yuta asks him. He still looks entranced, leaning in as close as the table will let him.

“Doyoung. Kim Doyoung. It’s, uh...nice to meet you?”

Yuta laughs, then, wonder in his eyes. The sudden sound doesn’t break the spell. Rather, it fills it with a warmth that reaches from Doyoung’s head down to the tips of his toes. When Yuta had been a stranger, Doyoung honestly hadn’t given him much thought. But now that his mental image is layered on top of this actual person, tying together every little detail he’s discovered, that he’s grown to love...his head feels like it might explode. His heart beats erratically in his chest.

“So, Doyoung.” Yuta’s smiling one of those blinding smiles Doyoung had only heard about, the name sounding more intimate than it has the right to be on his lips. “You know I have to ask. How did you manage to find me?”

“I ran into the right people, and you have a knack for leaving an impression. That, and I guess I’m too damn stubborn for the universe to tell me no.” Doyoung takes a grounding breath. “Why couldn’t you just stay in one place, huh?”

Yuta shrugs. “Wanted to see the world before I’m old and tired. I love Osaka, but I needed a change of scenery. Can I see…?”

Doyoung is confused until he sees Yuta’s eyes fall to his arm. He offers it to the other man, strangely self-conscious about the lone petal, and Yuta gently traces over the last silver lines. The moment his fingers come in contact with Doyoung’s skin, Doyoung feels a sharp tingling at the spot. He sucks in a quiet breath as before his eyes, that last petal turns a brilliant gold. This time, something tells him, it’s here to stay.

When the breath rattles back out of him, it nearly gets caught in his chest. “And yours?” he asks.

His arm feels cold when Yuta’s fingers release their grip, coming up to instead to pull down the neck of his shirt. There on the back of his shoulder, a golden petal is resting, mirroring Doyoung’s own. Yuta cranes his neck to look at it, genuine surprise blooming on his face.

“That’s new,” he admits. “I hadn’t noticed.” He must notice Doyoung’s heart promptly sinking, because he’s quick to reassure him, “Not that I didn’t give my soulmate any thought. I assumed I didn’t have to worry about it yet.” He must have felt _something_ similar to those sparks, because his hand is promptly back on Doyoung’s own, resting there like it had always belonged. He makes no move to let it go.

“I was like that, in a way,” Doyoung tells him. “I forced myself to stop thinking about it when it seemed so unlikely to work out. Then when I noticed the fading, something just...snapped. I made it my personal mission to find you before that flower could screw me over. It sounds a little ridiculous when I say it out loud.” He fixes Yuta with a half-hearted frown. “But you didn’t exactly cooperate.”

“I couldn’t make it that easy for you. Where would the fun be in that?”

Doyoung isn’t sure if he wasn’t to punch the frown off Yuta’s face or something else entirely. Then a thought hits him, and he feels himself deflate. Yuta catches it immediately, as he seems to with most things. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just...while I was out looking for you, I learned a lot from different people. It feels like I know so much about you. And you don’t know the first thing about me.” Privately, Doyoung wonders if he’s even the type of person that a bright, vibrant soul like Yuta would like. They’re not exactly two peas in a pod.

Yuta laces their fingers together and looks him right in the eyes. “Insecurity isn’t a good look on you, Doyoung,” he says. Doyoung scowls, but the kiss Yuta presses to the back of his hand makes his stomach drop, erasing the moment of irritation. “I know that you like your eggs with extra peppers. I know that you’re way too polite to underqualified waitstaff. And as for the rest?”

The smile on his face is as bright as that mountaintop sunrise. “Let’s change that.”


End file.
